


Away For All Time

by ettasig



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-15 09:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ettasig/pseuds/ettasig
Summary: Or "The One That Got Away... But Came Back."





	1. Away For All Time

**PART 1**

There is still fifteen minutes left before the ceremony is to proceed and out of the corner of his eye, Stiles spots Scott striding down the aisle of the chapel. Stiles pats Scott’s back whilst he slides into position and nods towards the Sheriff, the officiant of the wedding.

“You nervous?” he asks Scott.

Scott nods, pointing his eyes at the ground and adjusting his boutonniere. Then he lifts his head and flashes a glint of teeth,“This is everything I’ve wanted. So yeah, a bit.”

“That’s good man,” he tells Scott as he pulls him in for a quick hug, “I’m happy for you.”

He isn’t lying about it either.

He is really happy for his best friend, happy that he gets to be his best man on one of the most important days of his life. They’ve known Kira since high school and he knows, without a doubt that she’s kind and smart and perfect for Scott in every way. He’s excited for their future together but selfishly, Stiles can’t help but feel so terribly single.

Standing beside him is Derek who has his own family with Braeden, and Liam who's been dating Hayden for years. The maid of honour, Lydia, is standing beside the other bridesmaids, a hand underneath her pregnant belly. Lydia and Jordan have been expecting their second child for six months now. His ten-year-old self would’ve been totally heartbroken and jealous but he’s surprisingly thankful that he and Lydia never worked out in the end. She was never going to love him the way he wanted her to. And he wasn't sure if he even loved her like that in the first place. He just wished he learnt that sooner.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the orchestra playing, signalling for him to straighten up. He hears Scott’s slow deep breathing as Kira appears beaming in her white wedding gown at the chapel’s entrance, her arm around her father’s. The guests stand up from their seats, gasping as they take sight of the bride as she walks down the aisle, her eyes never leaving Scott’s under her veil.

Stiles skims through the rows of Scott and Kira’s friends and families, intently waiting for his friends to finally marry each other. This was the moment they'd all been waiting for.

He sees Melissa wiping away her tears on a cloth in the front row with Scott's dad and Deaton, Scott’s boss. There are friends from high school and college and a few of his colleagues from the police department have come too.

Almost instinctively, his eyes suddenly stop on a familiar face. It’s one he hasn’t seen in years since she left.

“Shit,” he murmurs, earning himself a shove in the arm from Derek. He’s grateful that Scott doesn’t notice.

His cheeks flush as his breath hitches in his throat. She's a dream - unreal, ethereal. It must be a crime for a guest to look prettier than the bride on her wedding day. She’s as beautiful in this moment then she was when he first met her. He blinks, noting that not much has changed about her. Malia’s deep brown locks fall in beachy waves just below her collar bone on top of the thin straps of her burgundy sundress. Her eyes twinkle in delight as she rests her temple on the shoulder of the man beside her. He’d recognise who the dark blond curls and that stupid smirk belonged to any day. She giggles under her breath after Isaac whispers something in her ear.

Shoving a hand in his pants pocket, he clenches it in a fist. He knows he has no right to be feeling this way but it comes naturally. Stiles doesn’t realise how long he’s been staring at her until she lifts her head and like magnets, her eyes draw to his.

After so many years of knowing her and silently communicating with her, he can’t imagine what she’s thinking right now or what she might be trying to tell him, if anything at all. He hates that he can’t figure her out anymore, not that he ever could to begin with.

Stiles can feel himself becoming paralysed by her presence. He forces himself to swallow the lump in his throat. Her red lips curve into a grin and he feels his heart flutter in his chest. It’s been too long since she’s looked at him like that.

* * *

The reception is held in a hall across from the chapel and a vineyard. Under a spotlight, the bride and groom take their first dance whilst the crowd cheers them on from their seats. Stiles looks for her through the sea of familiar faces. He has no idea of what he’d say to her or what she’d say to him, he knows he just needs to see her. He finds Isaac talking with Argent by the bar and Derek with his kids and Cora. But there's no sign of their cousin anywhere.

Every few minutes, he looks towards the entrance, waiting all night for her to arrive.

Just like the first time, she’s already left without saying goodbye.


	2. She Brings the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her once bronzed skin is a lot paler than he remembers but the smile that she gives through wine-stained lips is something he’s never forgotten. 
> 
> And God, it hurts so much.

**_ One Year Later... _ **

 

Stiles normally wouldn’t have minded hanging out at his best friend’s house but Scott and Kira had invited almost every one of their acquaintances on Facebook over for a Christmas party. He hated small talk especially when most of the people he hadn’t talked to since college or even high school. He wished he could sneak out without Scott noticing or be so drunk that he wouldn’t remember all the awkward conversations he had in the morning. But it wasn’t fun to be drunk alone and Scott couldn’t drink too much in order to look after Kira who was very close to giving birth to their first kid. Stiles wasn’t disappointed though. Watching his best friend hold his wife’s baby bump and talk so lovingly to other people’s kids made him confident that Scott was going to be a great dad. 

Scott and Kira had decorated the hallway with strings of elegant red ribbon and tinsel and hung shimmery plastic stars from the ceiling. The living room was lit with fairy lights and candles and in the corner, a red, gold and silver Christmas tree. Gentle clinking of glasses and friendly chatter could be heard over the deep purr of Michael Buble’s voice playing in the background. On the tables are candle canes, ornament-shaped cookies, gingerbread men, Santa-shaped muffins and fruit punch along with other festive beverages. By the fireplace mantel were three Christmas stockings and framed photos of their families and friends

He sighs. There’s a photo of all of his friends on their last night before they would start college. They had had a small farewell at Lydia’s family lake house where they all sat around the bonfire and told each other stories from high school and drank hot chocolate and roasted marshmallows. It was one of his favourite memories. 

Stiles liked that all of them could get together for the holidays. Though he missed that time in their lives where all of them would laugh and talk to each other in his and Scott’s apartment every weekend or go to Derek’s new bar for a drink. And now, he’d never be able to share these moments with them again. 

Scott is a permanent veterinarian at Beacon Hills Animal Clinic whilst Kira teaches history and health at their old high school (though they’re both taking some time off when the baby is born). Meanwhile Lydia balances her time being a physician at the local hospital and a mother to her and Jordan’s children, Alissa and Daisy Parrish. After all, he’s really genuinely happy for his friends.  And although he has half of what his friends have, Stiles isn’t doing too bad either. He's twenty-six, lives by himself in a decent apartment, far from the bustling noises of California but close enough to the Beacon Hills Police Department, where he is a senior detective. 

This was everything he wanted, dreamed of, envisioned. Yet when it came, when he had it all, he wasn’t sure if he was completely happy. It wasn’t over the fact that his ten-year plan to get with Lydia didn’t work. She would’ve never seen him in a romantic light and in the few weeks that they ‘dated’ they both couldn’t help but feel that their relationship was better left platonic.  

And after too many short-lived failed relationships and one-night stands during and after college and watching his friends get married and have kids, he settled on the idea of being a bachelor for the rest of his life. He didn’t think he liked kids enough to be a father anyway, despite what he thought. But still, there was something missing. The thought nagged at him. If he had it all, what more did he need? 

Maybe he was just too hard to please. 

Or maybe, he just had to be a little more patient. 

He's roused from his reverie by Kira rushing passed him to the front door, swinging it open and embracing a taller woman in a tight hug before letting go of her to allow Lydia to hug her too.

It’s her. She’s here.

He wishes he was drunk right now. 

There’s a sudden lump that forms in his throat.

She moves towards Isaac who awaits behind Lydia and wraps her arms around him and leans her head in the crook of his shoulder. ( _Of course_ Isaac is there to greet her!)

More people migrate towards the entrance as they take notice of the beloved person at the door. He’s always loved that about her. Always loved that she’s sweet and humble and people love her and she instantly lights up whatever room she’s in even though he knows she prefers the attention away from her. She deserves it too.

When she finally pulls away, he sees that she’s wearing a slightly cropped beige knit sweater under an olive green army jacket and black skinny jeans ripped at the knee with her signature combat boots. She has one strap of her backpack slung around her shoulder and the handle of her suitcase in her other hand. Her hair is shorter, wavy and chocolate-brown, absent of the caramel highlights she used to have a few years ago. For some odd reason, while she’s taking off her jacket, her beautiful brown eyes find his in the crowd. For the first few seconds, he is a deer in headlights with his eyes wide and his mouth agape in disbelief that she is finally here where he is. His grip on his beer tightens. 

As he slides his tongue over his dry lips, across the room, she breaks whatever tension they have with a smile. It’s the smile that makes everyone around her happy. It’s the same smile that she gave him from the crowd at Scott and Kira’s wedding ceremony. Her once bronzed skin is a lot paler than he remembers but the smile that she gives through wine-stained lips is something he’s never forgotten.

And God, it hurts so much.

Their eye contact breaks when Scott rushes to put away her things and Kira hooks an arm around her shoulders, guiding her towards the rest of the party.

* * *

His arms are crossed as he leans over the railing of the back porch. He ignores the squeak of the fly screen door opening and closing, taking in the view of the twinkling night sky. It’s quiet and peaceful outside since there isn’t anyone else here but him. The air is fresh and quite cool for California but it’s a nice change nonetheless.

“Hi stranger.”

His ears perk up at the sound of her voice, his head snapping in her direction. His cheeks flush as she strides towards him, “Malia.”

“Thought I’d get an invite to your wedding by now,” she says with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

He lets out a chuckle before looking at her. They stare at each other like that until a grin creeps up on both of their faces and they laugh as though they haven’t spent years apart. He shakes his head, looking down, embarrassed, “Uh..no. That’s not going to happen for a while.”

She nods, making a line with her lips. She takes a deep breath and crosses her arms and leans them on the rail beside his. She’s so close he can smell the earthy, forest scent of her rosewood perfume lingering in the crisp air. They stand there in silence for a moment before she asks softly, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

He turns to his right where her eyes are glittering over the view of Beacon Hills in the night. Frankly, he’s never seen much beauty in the town’s traffic, constant muggy weather or high-crime rates. But the way she looks at it, with so much wonder and admiration makes him think otherwise. “Yeah,” he tells her, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

After a while, she clears her throat and looks back at the party through the window behind them. He closes his eyes, secretly grateful that she’s about to leave and end his misery. Once she goes back inside, he’ll be able to breathe properly again, his heart won’t constantly try to beat out of his chest and he won’t risk doing something stupid in front of her.

But then she turns back, her twinkling eyes almost looking through him, “Is there something wrong, Stiles?"

Before he even has a chance to reply, she says, "We promised that whatever happens that we'd always be—”

“I’m not! We are…” he replies under his breath. Sometimes it terrifies him that she’s always so straightforward, always knows what she wants. He lets out a breathy laugh, attempting to mask any sign of hurt. His cheeks flush again, his voice croaking, “I—I know.”

“We were seventeen. In high school for crying out loud. It's not like it meant anything anyway,” she shrugs, jokingly.

He gulps, his mind stuck on what to say to her. He’s not drunk enough to have this conversation with her right now.

“…Besides,” she continues nonchalantly, “you were the one that walked away...?”

His heart hitches in his throat, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says lightly, “It was a long time ago.” She gives him that smile again.

He can’t understand why she’s talking to him right now, especially when he very unclearly broke up with her in her car in front of the police station and then proceeded to date her best friend.

She hasn’t changed much but he notices a different tone. She’s always been carefree since the moment he met her, but she looks happier now. A few years of travel has seemed to suck up all the angst and hatred of her adolescence as a result of the discovery of her being adopted and both of her biological parents being the town’s most wanted criminals.

“So… how are you?,” she asks, breaking the silence.

“Yeah. I’m—I’m good,” he stutters. They never used to be this awkward talking to each other. They never needed all the small talk, they just said whatever. “What about you?”

“I’m good too,” she tells him as she adjusts her jacket to hide her fists in her sleeves. She squints when the wind suddenly rushes passed them, sweeping her brown locks across her face.

Malia moves to fix it until he says, “Let me.” Before he knows it, he's lifting his hand off the rail and gently brushing the hair out of her face, tucking the strands behind her ear. She looks up at him patiently, letting him trace his fingers along her jaw and below her ear where he can feel the steady beating of her pulse. He takes her cold hands in his and brings them up to his lips. She looks at him with intent as he blows hot breath between her fingers and strokes the back of her hands with his thumbs.

“Thanks,” she exhales.

Realising what he’s doing, he curses under his breath and swiftly drops her hands. He’s so used to taking care of her, though he doesn’t get to do that anymore. He hasn't gotten to do that for a long time.

Stiles clears his throat and breathes heavily, “So what have you been up to? Still travelling the world?”

"I stopped travelling so much a few months ago. I live in Manhattan now. Upper West Side.”

He looks at her shocked.

“Yeah and my dad’s moved to Chicago with my step-mom and her kids.”

“Who would’ve thought that the girl who always complained about the cold would move to a city like New York?,” he questions teasingly.

She smirks at that for a second and tells him, “I spent so long packing up and running away without thinking about all of my problems… I don’t even know where I belong anymore.” She sighs, “Not in Paris or London or anywhere. I just needed a place to find my feet and maybe even slow down a bit…And Cora has an apartment in New York, so I thought why not, you know?”

“You could always come back to Beacon Hills?,” he suggests.

She shakes her head profusely, “I don’t know about that.”

He raises his eyebrows, “You know my door’s always open.”

Malia laughs, agreeing with him.

She’s so close, he can feel her breath on his face. She’s absolutely stunning, breathtaking. Everything about her is beautiful. Her face softens and he can’t help but stare at her lips, soft and inviting. All of a sudden, he’s desperate to find out if her lips still feel… still taste as good as they did when they were seventeen. His mouth is so dry, he can barely breathe.

They stand there for a painfully long time without moving until she sets one hand on his chest and the other around his neck and captures his lips in hers. He exhales through his nose, wrapping an arm around his waist, his fingers pressing into her skin. She slides the hand on his chest down to intertwine with his. Malia kisses him chastely, it's not deep enough. Then she pulls away too soon for them to come up for air and peels herself away from him.

His eyes follow hers directed at the ceiling where a string of mistletoe, wrapped in sparkly red ribbon is hung.

She finally rises up on her toes and whispers in his ear, “Merry Christmas Stiles,” before turning to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I'm late but I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


	3. All I Ever Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update! Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Warning: NSFW

He feels himself reaching out to her even after she untangles her hand from his and moves towards the door. He’s thought about her too many times for this moment to end like this – so fleeting, so unresolved.

“Mal.”

The sound of the nickname he used to call her all the time seems to stop her in her tracks. She pushes her hair behind her ear as she turns to face him, an eyebrow raised.

She’s staring at him so suddenly that he’s lost for words, completely at the mercy of her big brown eyes. He breathes out, murmurs something. He’s losing her attention. She’s going to go. Whatever he had been planning to say in case of this moment, he’s completely forgotten. “Do you–do you…Jesus.”

She looks at him curiously but even then there’s a softness in her eyes. “It’s okay,” she says gently, “Do I what?”

He huffs, certain that his cheeks are the darkest shade of red. He squeezes his eyes shut, “Never mind. It’s okay.” He mentally kicks himself.

When his eyes open up again, she’s standing in front of him at arm’s length. His heart skips a beat when she takes his clenched fist and squeezes it in between both of her palms. “It’s okay Stiles, I’m right here.”

He averts his gaze, shaking his head, “No, it’s really stupid.” He shakes his hands out of her hold and turns towards the stairs where the cement pathway leads to the back gate, quickly mumbling, “Have a good night.”

But even then, she calls out, “If you want it, it’s not stupid.”

He pretends to chuckle to himself, wanting to get out of her sight as quickly as he can.

“Wait. I have a question.”

Just like that, his feet come to a halt and he catches himself turning towards her, the tips of his ears perking at the sound of her voice for the hundredth time this evening, “Hm?”

Even as she pulls her jacket closer to her chest, the hint of mischief in her smile returns, “Do you want to get out of here?”

* * *

The front door squeaks as he jiggles the key into the lock and swings it open. “Sorry bout that,” he says, lifting his hand from his pocket to show her around awkwardly, “Here’s the place.”

She walks passed the doorway and into his open living space, glancing up at the movie posters and framed photographs on the entrance wall before shrugging off her jacket and planting it on the coat rack. She looks around curiously, face almost expressionless that he can’t tell if she likes it or if she wants to run away.

But nevertheless he likes it. Likes how this is his home that he made for himself and everything in it, he paid for. In the centre of the apartment, next to a giant wooden beam, there’s a burnt sienna L-shaped leather couch with orange-red throw pillows that Melissa got him and an oak square coffee table, all facing the TV in the corner. Beside that are old fabric armchairs that were his mom’s when she had her first apartment. On the left of the couch is a bare grey brick wall where a metal shelf with his books and records and his jukebox leans against. If anyone needed to get to know him, they'd look there. Behind the couch is the dining table set which he rarely uses but came with the place so it doesn’t really bother him. Between the dining space and kitchen, there’s a bare area where a basketball hoop is drilled onto the wall and where the balcony door is. He loves it every morning when he’s leaning against the kitchen island, drinking coffee and the sunlight shines in through the massive Georgian windows that look onto the streets of Beacon Hills. 

Despite all that, Malia's eyes dart to the chalk wall beside the TV and skims across the photographs of the various crime scenes he’s been to and the red, yellow and green string scattered across it.

He heads to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses and returns to her fixated on the Yoda figurine on his shelf. He hands a glass to her and pours the liquid into it, all the while taking in her familiar scent once more. She grins as they both take a sip.

“I love it,” she breathes out.

“Really?” he asks, surprised.

“Yeah, I really do.”

They lay out on the couch, talking and drinking wine for what felt like hours. He listened to her reminisce about New York and all the countries she’d travelled to across Europe and Asia. Then afterwards, she pushed him to talk about himself, telling him she didn’t mind how boring he said his life was compared to hers, as long as she got to listen to him speak. She laughed and leaned into him and after a while, he stopped feeling any bit self-conscious or any need to impress her. For all he knew, she had him wrapped around her finger a long time ago.

“… and that’s that. We caught the bad guy and now he’s in jail. Really doesn’t get more exciting than that,” he says, shrugging.

“Well, I think it’s amazing.” she says in this small voice that he barely hears. She bites her lower lip and for the next few minutes, he can’t seem to break their stare.

In his head, he knows how much of a bad idea this is but with her in this proximity, he can’t help but want it, he can’t breathe. She’s looking at him innocently like he’s got all the answers but nothing happens. So he slides his lips over hers and his fingers trail down to her waist.

She kisses him back with equal fervour, pushing her hands into his hair and her lips parting in a moan as his mouth slides along her jaw and down her neck. She pulls him closer so that she’s straddling him and at the feeling, they both moan.

He lifts his arms up, pulling off his sweater at the same time that she pulls off hers, exposing her bare chest. Her hips undulate on top of him, brushing against his jeans, leaving him completely at her mercy. He’s not quite there yet but it’s enough to get him excited. And by the look on her face, she looks like it too.

He eases his face down her smooth skin, licking her collarbone and gently nipping at her breasts until the tips harden and he’s got her chanting his name.

Her hands pull onto his shoulders and they glide over his muscles, pulling him closer as her eyelashes flutter and she arches her back. “Stiles,” she whines as his hand moves lower and lower, unbuttoning her jeans and rubbing her in the spot he knows makes her legs shake. Almost in retribution, she slides a hand between them and slips it inside his jeans, stroking him, making him groan in the crook of her neck.

He wills himself to think straight, lifting his head to look up at her, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” she tells him, almost immediately, “Yes, I want you.”

* * *

It’d been so long since he tasted her, since he’d been inside of her. She wanted it just as much as he did without a second thought. And when they were finished, she lay beside him on his arm with her fingers tracing shapes along his ribs, both of them sweaty but still, it's all he ever wanted. Not what they just did, but her, being with her. And the feeling that came with it. They were together and they were happy.

“I missed this,” she whispers into his neck.

“You missed the sex?” he questions, jokingly.

She chuckles when he does and she pauses for a short while before telling him, “Not just that, I missed you." She curls a finger in a lock of his unkempt hair, "You don’t even know.”

“I think I do,” he insists.

She smiles, moving to lie on top of him so that their stomachs are pressed up against each other. She sets her chin on her hand which rests on his chest, her other hand lazily raking through his hair, “I loved you... so much.”

She says it so quietly as if it’s a secret, he’s not sure what to say. He holds her, palms caressing along her back, until she falls asleep.


	4. Pretty Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick one!

The next morning, he wakes up in a state of confusion, half-naked and alone. Normally he’d lie in the middle of his bed as a result of his reckless sleeping habits but last night she had fallen asleep right next to him. He remembered so vividly the way her chest would rise and fall slowly as she slept and the way he held her as if she was small and vulnerable. But when he reaches for the side of the bed that she'd slept on, it’s cold and empty, and her clothes are off of the floor. 

Maybe what happened the night before didn’t mean to her what it meant to him and she’d already left for New York without notice, to save him from disappointment. Or maybe, she was never with him at all.

He brushes that thought away from him, untangling his limbs from his sheets and makes his way to the door and down the hallway. He comes to a halt when he reaches the kitchen. 

“G’morning,” Malia says cheerfully, a smile spreading across her lips. She’s wearing one of his sweaters and her ripped skinny jeans from the night before. The sweater is a bit too big on her but still, he can’t help but think she looks effortlessly gorgeous in it. Malia walks out from behind the kitchen island and closes the distance between them, leaning forward to kiss him thoughtfully. Mid-kiss, she slides a hand down his shoulders and onto his chest, before resting it on his heart.

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet,” he teases, when they break.

“I don’t care,” she replies, smirking. “How’d you sleep?”

“Best sleep I’ve had in ages.”

 Her smile seems to widen at that. “I made breakfast,” she says, directing to the scrambled eggs, bacon and toast ready on the kitchen counter. “I needed to buy some stuff though. You didn’t have a lot in your fridge.” 

“Yeah… I don’t really cook much,” he admits.

She rolls her eyes, handing him a knife and fork.

* * *

After they finish with breakfast, Stiles washes the dishes with Malia’s arms tied around his middle. Every few minutes, she leans up and plants kisses onto his back, making a noise of content in the back of her throat. As they shower together, she throws her head back, hysterically laughing when he tickles her sides under the streaming hot water. They scrub one other, hands gliding along every inch of each other’s bodies. They splash water at each other until their lips meet in a heated kiss. He remembers thinking about how he hasn’t laughed that much in so long.

When they’re done, they lie around in their towels watching TV with their bodies pressed up against each other. At noon, they manage to get dressed and have lunch on the balcony. Since it’s still the holiday season and there isn’t much to do outside, they spend the day indoors, catching up and eating. They make love again that night.

They continue that routine for the next few days. Though when the weather’s nice, Malia encourages him to go for a run with her, which he agrees to very reluctantly. He’s never been a fan of exercise but he loves watching Malia be in her element. They stop for coffee at Bobby’s afterwards and they walk around the streets of Beacon Hills with her reminding him of all the things their group of friends used to do when they walked passed the diner, the bowling alley and the theatre.

She’s the first New Year’s kiss he’d had in ages at Lydia and Jordan’s New Year’s party. For the first time in a while, he doesn’t feel so alone at these events when her fingers are intertwined with his. Being with her felt completely natural. Hearing her call him ‘baby’ was natural too.

After a while, when he goes back to work after the holiday break, Malia suggests going back to New York, says that she feels bad for intruding on his life. But every time she raises the question of going back, he manages to convince her to stay just for a few more days, taking less shifts at the station in order to spend time with her. Then those days eventually turn into weeks… then months. She offers to cover his bills since she’s causing an increase in his water and power usage which he adamantly refuses. While he’s at work, she helps out at her cousin Derek’s bar or stops by at the veterinary clinic where Scott works.

On the weekends, she comes with him to visit his father for dinner. When she first stood at the door, his father wasn’t even phased by her presence, welcoming her into the house as if she came over all the time.

It doesn’t take him long to realise that she didn’t just go to the store that morning but went back to Scott and Kira’s to grab her things so he empties some drawers and pushes half of his clothes aside in his closet for her to keep her things. It turns out that that made little to no difference because she ends up wearing his clothes anyway. He’s not even mad about it.

* * *

 

One day, after his afternoon shift ends, he gets a call from Scott telling him that Kira’s water broke. He races to pick up Malia from the bar and when they arrive at the hospital, Asher Yukimura McCall is born exactly seven minutes past five, a perfect mix of Scott and Kira, with a head of dark hair and wide, deep brown eyes.

Malia cries when she’s given the chance to hold the newborn baby. She leans her face into him, cupping his head in her hand, breathing in his fresh scent. Looking up at Stiles standing beside her, she beams, tears streaming down her face, “Look how amazing he is, Stiles.”

He hums in agreement, extending an arm around her and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. He looks up at Scott and Kira, both of them smiling back at him, exhausted but happy.

As Malia’s returning Asher to Kira, Melissa appears beside him. “Is it too soon to be expecting one from you too?” she whispers, amused. 

He blushes, hoping that Malia is too distracted to hear.

“You two are good for each other,” she adds, almost absently. 

He knows, deep inside of him. He just wishes Malia knew that too.


	5. Breathe, Release It All

Malia has the jukebox on in the apartment when Stiles comes in after work. It’s playing some cringey pop song about how a teenage can never get her crush to notice her. Regardless, Malia seems to know all the words, using the spatula she’s cooking stir-fry with as her microphone. She stills for a second, allowing him to come up beside her and give her a quick peck on the lips. 

When he returns to the kitchen, out of his uniform and in a plain tee under a plaid shirt and sweats, the burner is turned off and the stir-fry and rice that Malia cooked is placed nicely on the dining table. He notices her crouched at the jukebox, fingers flicking the buttons, making it play a slow, soothing song. She stands up, his Star Wars t-shirt that she’s wearing stops mid-thigh, giving him a nice view of her long, sleek legs. She grins at him, making his heart beat fast, before closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around his neck, “Dance with me.”

He chuckles, muses how this beautiful, spontaneous girl could be so stern and stubborn yet so tender and affectionate. She’s the perfect mix of those qualities and he loves that she’s unapologetic about it.

They sway together in the middle of his apartment, bodies moving in sync with his hands resting on her lower back and her leaning into him. At some point in the song, she lifts her head and runs her fingers through his hair before pressing her lips to his in a long, gentle kiss. It feels like magic. Like the earth has stopped spinning for a moment just for them. He swallows, preparing himself to say it, to tell her in the quietest tone, “Mal, I-“

Then the jukebox abruptly crackles and the music comes to a stop.

Malia slides her arms down his shoulders and turns around, guiding him towards the dining table. She ushers him to sit while she seats herself opposite him. In an instant, she springs out of her chair, jolting towards the kitchen counter, shouting over her shoulder, “I almost forgot!”

She’s so caught up in getting what she needs from the cabinets that her hip knocks into the chef’s knife on the counter. Everything seems to go in slow motion as he bolts towards her, calling out, “Baby wait…” The knife falls onto the floor but not before slicing her foot, causing a violent splatter of red appearing on it. They stand in silence for mere seconds, utterly in shock of the accident. Malia’s eyes shoot to him.

His breathing is ragged, he can hear his heart pounding in his ears, he can feel his cheeks heating up. He looks down at his trembling hand, then towards Malia, hyper aware of his body’s inability to _do_ anything under his control by his tensed muscles and constricted chest _._ Something bad is going to happen. Something really bad, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

He’s had this before, many times since he was a kid. He knows this feeling all too well.

Malia drops onto the floor as he does, her brows furrowed though her face remains calm. Kneeling beside him, she takes slow, deep breaths in and out exaggeratedly, beckoning him to imitate her. She coaxes him in her softest voice, “Breathe with me, Stiles. Breathe with me. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Hot tears stream down his face as he chokes back a sob, “I can’t do it. I can’t-“

“I know you can. I’m right here. It’ll go away but you have to breathe. Can you do that for me?”

Following her lead, Stiles nods.

Soon after, his heart beat eases and he can feel himself returning back to normal. His tear-stained cheeks flush as he urges himself to avoid her gaze, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise for that Stiles. You did it,” she tells him as he meets her eyes, “I’m so proud of you.”

Noticing the blood trickling on her foot, she excuses herself to clean and bandage it, then returns to the floor, handing him a glass of water. They sit in each other’s company for a few minutes, with her fiddling with the bandage and him looking down at the floor. After a while, she whispers, “Can I touch you?”

He nods appreciatively.

Her hand slips under his plaid shirt, her palm resting on his heart again. She presses a kiss to his jawline, then draws him in, cupping his head so that it lays in the crook of her shoulder. Their arms wrap around each other, with hers around his neck and his around her waist. He feels her chest rise and fall while she breathes in his scent, peppering his hairline with short kisses.

Later that night, they reheat dinner but Malia suggests they eat it on the balcony instead. They curl up in bed and she tells him about her day at the bar, with him tracing circles on her back. He grimaces when she tells him that three separate middle-aged men tried to flirt her at work. She reassures him with a kiss. She shifts closer to him and pulls the cover over them, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. He can feel her fingers brushing very lightly, where his heart is, which is now beating steadily.

She’s already asleep, her eyelashes twitching and lips parted when he turns to face her. As to not wake her, he carefully leans his lips on her forehead, her nose and finally her mouth. “I love you Malia,” he murmurs, “I know now. I want you to know, I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, this is another quick update. However, this will also be the last update for a while since I have to prioritise schoolwork. I hope you can all understand. But do not fret, all questions you may have will be answered very soon!


	6. Accidentally, In A Heartbeat, In A Single Flashing, Throbbing Moment

They're getting ready for bed when he finally tells her. 

It’s not in the way he thought he would. He was sat against the headboard reading about the new lead on his latest case when she handed him a warm cup of chamomile tea, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as he drank it.

Malia loved tea, having become obsessed with it during a trip to China. She always had a few bags at hand and when he talked about how stressed he was at work, she scoured the web to find a tea that would calm him.

That’s when the words sort of slipped out, unprepared but sincere nonetheless, “ _God_ , I love you.”

He leans to kiss her full, pouty lips but when he does, they’re still, unresponsive. She pulls away, turning her head to the side, her eyes shut as she heaves out, “Stiles, don’t say that.”

He stares at her confused, his mind buzzing. He’s almost certain that he’s scared her off but he can’t help that it’s true, that he’s been wanting her to know how he’s felt about her ever since that night. “But I do.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No I do. I was stupid and I never said it even though I’ve felt it for so long. I love you. I love you. I’m so in love with you, you don’t even know—“

She looks as if it hurts her to hear him say that. “No please, Stiles. Please don’t say that,” she pleads, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

“No, we’re talking about this now,” his tone of voice startles her. It makes him feel the largest part guilty inside. “I don’t expect you to say it back. I just wanted you to know that you have me. For as long as I’m here, you’ll always have me. I’m yours.”

She swings her legs off the bed, pulling away from his touch, “I’m sorry. This was a mistake. All of this was a mistake—“

“Woah, wait,” he follows her. It almost makes him angry, frustrated that she won’t give him an explanation, won’t give him a chance. But she doesn’t owe him anything. She never has. Reaching out to her, he calls, “What do you mean?”

She turns to him, taking his hand in hers and meeting his eyes, “Stiles, I’m going home.” She pauses, “I’m going back to New York.”

At that, every murmur in his mind seems to silence. “When?”

“In two days.”

He steps back.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” she tells him, hurt.

He thinks about it for a short while before he says, “Then I’ll come with you.”

"I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?” He contests, “I’d do anything for you.”

“No Stiles. This is your dream, your vision remember? This,” her hand points out to the apartment, “This is what you’ve always wanted. I don’t want you to give up on this for me.”

He thinks back to that day when they were in their senior year of high school. He had picked her up in his Jeep. He’d been late but she was thrilled to see him and greeted him with a passionate kiss. Back then, they were naive and lived without regrets, ready to take on whatever the outside world had coming for them. Back then, he had her. Back then, before he kissed her in the rain, he’d meant every word he said about the vision, about her being a part of it. And then he had to go off and lose her. And now he was about to lose her for good.

“I know I hurt you. I know I left you. But if I could take all of it back I would.”

She smiles pitifully. “Look, at the time, it hurt to realise that I was never going to be good enough for you. I could never blame you for that. But then my dad got married again and moved to Chicago. And then I felt like I had nothing left.” She chuckles softly, shaking her head, “You were one of the biggest reasons why I left but I don’t want you to take it all back. I just—I just needed time. I needed to run away for a bit.”

He stepped into her space, “What about now? We’ll be better. It didn’t work out the first time but if you want, we’ll make this work-“

“We can’t,” she interrupts. He knows he’s pushing it.

She sighs, a single tear streams down her face as she cups his cheek. “I’m not the one Stiles. You’ll find her one day and she’ll make you so happy,” the grin she forces doesn’t hide the sadness in her eyes. “You’ll marry her and she’ll be the mother of your kids. She’ll be better than your vision, I promise.” Then the hand on his cheek slides down to his shoulder. “But that’s not me. It can’t be.”

He licks his lips, “What are you saying?”

She tells him what he’s never wanted to hear her say, “I need you to let me go.”

He swallows a gulp, nodding at what this meant. He had his vision. He needed to let her find own. 

* * *

After a while, she says, “We can just be friends?”

The offer almost sends a dagger into his chest. “We’ve never been friends.”


	7. Not To Me. Not If It's You

By the time he arrives back to his apartment, the biggest proof that she was ever there sits beside his front door, practically all set for tomorrow morning. For how long she stayed, she’s surprisingly only had enough stuff for a suitcase and backpack. It's probably because she ‘borrowed’ almost half of his closet and never thought to give it back. Not that he minds at all.

“Stiles?” He hears her muffled call through the bedroom. There's been an overriding tension between them ever since since that night. There’s silence and uncomfortable nods instead of the usual flirtation and calling of nicknames or the clinging onto each other until their arms fall asleep. He assumes that it’s probably her attempt to ready the distance between them.

It’s hard to know what to feel when the girl you’re in love with breaks up with you even though you were never officially dating. It’s even harder to know what to feel when that girl still sleeps in your bed and appears in your dreams every night.

His feet follow her voice before halting at his bedroom’s doorway. The BHPD t-shirt that she’s wearing ends mid-thigh, her knees pressed against the foot of the bed as she folds the laundry, stopping abruptly to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Malia glances up to find him watching her. On a normal day, she’d tilt her head to the side, her hair almost falling out of its top knot and smile that smile that makes his heart race and leaves not a single word on the tip of his tongue. But this time she frowns with an eyebrow raised, “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

He chuckles. She’s never looked so concerned. “Well, I’m here because I live here. And I _was_ at work but I’m home early ‘cause I want to take you somewhere.”

“Take me where?”

“You’ll find out soon,” he smirks.

Her eyes widen. “What? Stiles?!”

She’s always been the more spontaneous person in their relationship so he puts an arm out to her, “Come on, let’s go.”

Malia stares at him curiously before walking towards him and taking his hand. She seems to soften up when he wraps an arm around her shoulder and presses a small kiss on her temple. He smiles at the possibility that it’ll be normal between them again just for a little while more.

* * *

He drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other clasped with hers, resting on his thigh. The pad of his thumb traces circles on the back of her hand, before bringing it to his lips to nuzzle it.

The place is only half an hour away from his apartment but it’s completely devoid of the sounds of the city. Dirt and rocks crackle underneath the wheels of the Jeep as it makes its way uphill. Out the window there are trees for miles and miles and he can’t help but watch Malia muse over them. It was always obvious that this was where she belonged. The city was no match for a wild girl like her.

In the midst of the forest is a bright orange light reaching up into the sky. He watches Malia’s jaw drop at the sight of it and he feels her spindly fingers tighten around his. He pulls up beside a caravan and pulls the gear stick to park. “This is it.”

He reaches back onto the passenger seat where he’s left a sweatshirt and hands it to her. She accepts it appreciatively before shrugging it on and getting out of the Jeep.

“This is the highest point of Beacon Hills,” he tells her. “You’ve been here for almost seven months and I’ve never taken you out on a real date.”

She laughs before rolling her eyes, “You’ve got to stop breaking my heart.”

Taking her hand, he leads them to an old man who introduces himself as Robin. He’s one of Stiles’ dad’s friends who he’s known since he was a kid. Behind Robin stands a 70-feet tall hot air balloon in ravishing colours of yellow, red and blue. 

“I can’t believe you,” Malia sighs though she fails to wipe the smile off her face.

Up in the air, it’s moments like these that he will hold so closely in his heart forever. He’d cry to dream of them again. Moments with her, around her, in her presence. Wherever they were. From the scent of her hair, like the earth, to how she looked back at him with doe eyes and how tightly she wrapped her arms around his sides, with her head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. She is nothing short of beautiful. He shames himself for ever thinking she wasn’t right for him or that there’d be anyone better.

Fire and rain live simultaneously within her. A girl too dangerous to touch yet too ethereal to want to stop watching. He finally understands it when he’s looking down at her laying on his bed, his calloused hands cupping her face as he pushes himself in and out of her. Malia runs her hands down his bare chest, then scrapes her dull nails along his back, her legs wrapping around his hip to anchor herself. Kissing her lips, he makes her moan, gasp and praise him, knowing well that nothing he could or say is enough to make her not want to catch that flight tomorrow morning.

It’s not long before she’s all sensation, gasping for breath, her fingers burrowed in his hair and his face at her neck. “I don’t ever want to be your friend,” he mutters into her skin, his next thrust harder and deeper than the ones before. “I love you.”

When she reaches her climax, her pants come out loud and stuttered, her muscles clench and flutter around him, pulling him into his own climax too.

He collapses beside her afterwards, their legs sweated and still entangled. They lay there for a while, savouring the last few moments with each other in silence, until Malia speaks.

“Thank you, Stiles,”she tells him, pausing to kiss his knuckles,“for everything.”

* * *

The next morning, Malia does her usual routine of making them breakfast, going for a run around town and showering. But what was so different this time was that when she’d come back to the apartment, it'd be the last time she'd ever step foot in it again.

Walking out of the bathroom, she steps out in dark-wash denim jeans and a plain t-shirt under the same olive green army jacket that she wore at the Christmas party. Ironically, she looks of out of place in her own clothes. He stands beside her as she takes one last glance at the apartment, sighing before picking up her luggage and walking out the door. 

His heart starts pounding when he sees the cab. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry,“What if I never get over you?”

Stiles looks at her exhaling heavily, as if she's willing herself to keep it together, to keep the tears inside. 

He can’t breathe. This is the moment that he finally loses her, loses the one person who has ever made him feel like whatever he did had purpose, made him feel alive. “How long will I have to wait?”

At that, the tears rush down her face. She chokes back a sob,“I don’t know, Stiles.” She wipes the tears on her sleeve as she loads her things into the trunk of the cab.

He digs his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and watches her shut the door of the trunk. Turning towards him, she stares at him intently for a few seconds before crushing her lips into his, the kiss passionate and desperate, a harmony of tongues. Kissing her back with equal fervour, he presses his arms along her sides, wanting, craving more and more and more, holding onto the thought that this moment would never end. The kiss slows, with him memorising the feel of her lips against his, until she pulls away and grapples him into a long, tight embrace.

He breathes her in one last time and runs his hand over her hair. “You don’t have to keep running anymore,” he sobs, “You’re safe here with me. I’ll take care of you. Please, Malia.”

They stand there for a while longer before she unwraps her arms from around his neck and gives him a small sad smile before climbing into the cab. “Goodbye, Stiles.”

His heart spikes when she pulls the door shut and the cab drives away. He sees her face staring back at him through the back window, slowing fading away as the cab moves further and further from him.

“Come home, baby,” he whispers,“Come home.”


	8. Teenage Blue

They say that nothing makes a room feel emptier than wanting someone in it. 

Walking back into his apartment, he’s never felt more alone, as if the world is just ruthlessly moving on without giving him a chance to feel any bit sorry for himself.

It was the casual intimacy that killed him. It was the glint in her teeth when she smiled and the way her fingers trickled down his spine as she spooned him, and the feeling of her lips on his, rough yet soft like an urgent whisper. It was the quiet understanding in her eyes and the profound feeling of safety and fulfilment he felt whenever she looked at him. And her laugh, _God_ , her laugh, especially when he’d done something embarrassingly awkward. Then she’d hold his face in her small hands and press a kiss to his nose before he could say anything more self-deprecating. He loved her and the things she said and did always made him feel like she loved him too. Stiles knew why they couldn’t be together. It just sucked.

* * *

“I messed up, Scott. I really did,” Stiles says, before tilting his head back and taking the last swig of his beer.

“No you didn’t,” Scott argues.“Look, Stiles, this isn’t your fault. She was always going to go back to New York anyway. I thought you knew.” He pauses, licking his lips. “She told us a couple of weeks ago. Isaac’s already left too.”

He glares at Scott for a second, exhaling uncomfortably.

“She didn’t tell you?” Scott asks innocently.

“Not until two nights before she left,” he mutters miserably. “I just thought that we were good. Everything with her was good.”

* * *

It’s in the middle of the night when Stiles tries in vain to sleep that he hears her voice again. Even after weeks since she’s left, he hears it loud and clear in his head, like a constant hum, reassuring and safe. He misses it almost as much as he misses his mom’s. But it’s entirely different; when he hears it, he imagines himself holding her face in his hands and kissing her, deep and slow while she murmurs something against his lips, tracing patterns on his hips. He imagines them walking in the woods, dancing, laughing and teasing as they make love. Stiles hears it almost all the time but still never enough. Then one night _“I need you to let me go”_ echoes in his head, bolder than any other thought in his mind. It completely catches him off guard and forces away every last memory he’s had of her, with her. 

It’s the ghost of her that still lingers in his head, in his apartment. Everywhere he goes, there’s a persistent reminder of her, as if she’s already left but her spirit still refuses to. The first thing Stiles does is remove every remnant of her — the scent of cedar wood in his clothes, the strands of long blonde-brown hair in his shower, the hair ties on the counter and the stains in his bedsheets… He takes down every polaroid of them pinned to his fridge. There’s one where she’s pressing her lips to his cheek and another of them in the hospital, with her holding Asher in her arms. Beside it is a post-it note that he’d written for her before his morning shift one time. He’d written ‘BABY, YOU MAKE ME SO HAPPY’ with a crude drawing of a heart next to where he signed his name. She must’ve stuck it on there when he left. Crumpling the piece of paper in his fist, he supposes that she really did make him so happy. After everything he’s gotten rid of, it’ll mean she’s finally left him and he’s finally moved on.

Yet one afternoon after work when the Jeep’s engine breaks down and he’s fishing for the Jeep’s owner manual in the glove compartment, he feels something smooth and soft, trimmed with lace. He finds himself holding her bruise-coloured panties in his hands, blushing at the things they did in the passenger seat of the Jeep.

* * *

Months later, he hates that she still has an impact on his life. He goes for a run pretty much everyday and he cooks more often than he orders in. He takes more shifts at work just so that he has something to do, something to think about other than her. He can’t sit around feeling sorry for himself forever. She’s moved on. If she didn’t she would’ve called, she would’ve come back. And she hasn’t called, neither has she come back. In the night when he can’t sleep, he keeps her side of the bed clear just in case she does. 

More shifts means less sleep and less sleep means he’s doing a bad job. He’s made aware of this when Jordan sits him in his office and questions all the missing and incomplete files under his name. Lucky for him, Jordan doesn’t threaten to fire him but suggests that he take a week off to “get some rest and get back on track” because he doesn’t want him to “let the team down.” So later that night, he tries one of the Chinese chamomile teas she made him drink when he couldn’t get his mind to just _shut up_ and drifts off to sleep.

He dreams of her obviously. Not every night but she’s been making more appearances in his dreams the more he sleeps. Tonight, it’s the two of them sitting on the beach by themselves. The sky is white, overcast and the wind blows in their faces. There’s no rush, no need to worry as she wiggles her feet in the sand and smiles at him for no apparent reason. He misses her smile and the way she made he feel like he was more important than he really was. But by far the best thing about the dream is when she traces lines connecting the splatter of moles on his cheeks. Delicate and careful, as though if she didn’t, he’d shatter. It’s the first time he’s felt her touch in ages. Other nights, he dreams of himself laying in his bed in the dark. She sits straddled on his waist and presses a firm kiss on his lips. He’s always loved that about her; she’s never kissed him half-heartedly. She runs her hands up and down his biceps before she whispers “relax baby (it’s just me)” and pecks his chest, his stomach and the area just above the waistband of his boxers, lowering her face under the sheets. It sends a shiver down his spine and makes him beg. He swears every morning after he gets those sort of dreams, he wakes up to something far unwelcome in his pants. That’s always been one of the biggest effects that she’s had on him.

* * *

About a year after she’s left, Stiles is cornered in the remains of a bank after the department was notified of a siege. He had managed to sneak his way in and uncuff all of the employees and customers in the basement, and also call in the local rescue team to carry them out of the building. That was until one of the perps shot him in the shoulder with his handgun without Stiles even noticing, and then proceeded to set the room he was standing in on fire, sending Stiles stammering to the ground, his hand fastening around the piercing pain. The wall had crumbled around him, leaving no sign of exit. The perps had probably stolen hundreds of cases of money already. 

He’s bloodstained, weak and in defeat. The smoke might kill him before the fire does. He remembers his dad telling him about how one of his friends died just like he’s about to back in the day. It’s just part of the job but you can never prepare yourself for a situation like this until you’re in it. He’s about to have a panic attack, he can feel it, yet the one person on his mind is her. It’s always been her. Frustratingly, devastatingly always her.

He rummages his pockets for his phone, clicking the home button only to find it flat-out dead and most likely broken. Across the tile under the rubble, he notices the shine of a red phone case and pushes himself to reach for it. The screen is shattered and there isn’t much of a signal but it seems to work. He dials her number from memory and closes his eyes as it rings. It seems to do so forever until he hears a crackle before he hears her voice.

“Hello?” she speaks, her voice steady and calm. He lets the phone rest in the palm of his hand but he doesn’t move, frozen by the sound of her voice and the rippling longing to just simply be with her. Then she speaks again, this time more impatiently, “Hello? Who is it?”

He can’t muster up the strength and energy to speak but in his mind he’s begging her not to hang up. He needs her voice to be the last thing he ever hears. Not his dad’s or Scott’s but hers. Stiles knows it’s sort of messed up but no matter how far he tries to push her away, she had a hold on him like no other. He missed her so much, he couldn’t stand it.

The silence on the other side of the line becomes deafening. He assumes she’s long gone until he hears her chuckle softly and speak once again, “I know you’re there. I can hear you.”

He freezes.

“Hello?” she repeats again. He hears a male voice (probably Isaac) asking who it is. “No idea.”

Her voice lulls for a little while longer before he hears the crackle again followed by beeping. He laughs softly to himself. In what he thinks is his last hour, she was his comforter and joy yet for her, he was just a stranger who called the wrong number.

* * *

Unbeknownst to everyone including himself, he makes it out alive. His dad is right beside his bedside when he wakes up. His dad is sobbing as he tells him how proud of him he is and how thankful that he’s alive. Scott and his family come to visit him in hospital too and they cry together like they always do when they think they might’ve lost each other. 

It’s a fortnight before the doctors discharge him and he returns to his apartment. Jordan visits him soon after and tells him to return back to work whenever he can but not to rush his recovery. Between getting rest and fixing the bandage on his shoulder, Stiles watches whatever’s on TV, avoiding the news and gravitating to the more brain-numbing programs. It’s stupid but it keeps his mind off important things. There’s very little that he should be doing. One of which is getting a new phone.

Planting himself on the couch, he connects his old, terribly cracked phone to his laptop and backs up the phone’s data. He sees a video with a black thumbnail appear on the screen which he’s completely forgotten about. He clicks on it curiously, his heart skipping a beat when her bare freckled face comes into view. She’s laying on her side in his bed, naked, with the sheets pulled up to her chest, under her arms. Her brown hair covers her face and he sees his own hand reach up and tuck it behind her ear. He traces her jaw and then pulls gently at her bottom lip as she smiles.

He swallows as he hears himself say behind the camera, “Say something.”

She giggles and bites down on his thumb lightly. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Anything.”

“Okay…” she breathes and readjusts the sheets around her. “Hi I’m Malia and this is _my_ baby, Stiles,” she says, turning the phone camera around so that he’s in the frame with her, pressing her cheek against his. “He’s my whole _entire_ world…”

He watches the both of them turn until their noses are inches away from each another and she smiles against his lips before she kisses him, her fingers pushing themselves into his scalp. He sighs at how happy these two people are. There are no amount of words to describe how he felt about her and how happy she made him back then. He’d do anything just to have that again.

Right as he’s about to close the video, her voice turns serious and she stares directly into the phone camera, as if she's looking at him. “Kids. If you’re watching this, you put this back in Daddy’s secret hiding spot right now. This is not for you!” He sees himself laugh again. Then she shrugs and says, “I don’t know, Mommy’s just happy, okay? She’s just so _happy_.”

* * *

His arms are crossed as he leans over the railing of the back porch. It’s the same every year, Christmas at Scott and Kira’s. But this year, there are fireworks going off in the night sky while everyone wishes each other a Merry Christmas. He hears the squeak of the fly screen door opening and closing and turns around to see Lydia walking towards him with a sleeping Daisy Parrish in her arms. He greets her quietly as she walks to stand beside him. 

“How are you, Stiles?” she asks.

“I’m okay, I’m good,” he replies, nodding.

She glares at him for a second, “I’m not talking about after the siege, Stiles.”

He looks at her confused. _What else is she talking about?_

She rolls her eyes and readjusts the child in her arms, “Cut the crap Stilinski and tell me. How are you really?”

He looks at her confused once again. He knew Lydia was annoyingly persistent but he doesn't have a clue as to what she's alluding to. “Tell you what? I’m fine. I’m back at work next week. Jordan didn’t tell you this?”

She rolls her eyes again and tells him sternly, “Tell me you hate that she’s gone.”

He feels his cheeks heat up. “Who?”

“Come on, Stiles. You wanted her to visit you in the hospital, didn’t you?”

“What?! No… She’s in New York. She obviously couldn’t make it and it’s not like she needed to. I was only there for two weeks and she’s out there living her dream and that doesn’t involve me which is fine. I’ve let her go, it’s all good.”

She glares at him again and suddenly he feels himself embarrassed for rambling so much. Lydia argues, “You thought you were fine with letting her go. But it’s been months now. Over a year now!” She pauses. “Tell me honestly. Does it still hurt?”

“Lydia…” he urges.

She cocks an eyebrow.

He looks down at his feet, ashamed. It shouldn’t still hurt but it does. It’s taking him too long to move on, he knows. “How did you know?”

“You called for her in your sleep,” she tells him, honestly.

“I just miss her,” he tells Lydia blatantly, looking up at the night sky. “I miss her so much.”

“I know. She’d be here if she could.”

He finds that hard to believe and he knows Lydia knows it too.

“Can I tell you something?” Lydia asks, seriously. 

“Sure,” he says, shrugging.

“I never wanted to be a mom. I always thought I’d be doing medicine or just science all my life because I could never imagine a life without it. And then I met Parrish,” she pauses. “And with him… something that I always adamantly refused, I found myself wanting so desperately. Now I have these two amazing kids and I’m _still_ a physician,” she tells him, gesturing to Daisy. She continues, “It’s a lot different to how I imagined things but I don’t regret any of it.”

“Hm..”

“My point is, Stiles… Sometimes dreams change and that’s okay. Things don’t always go as planned. You don’t need to be a mom to know that. But I just know that if you realise you want something now but it was never originally part of the plan, what’s stopping you from having both?”

He shrugs again. “What do you want me to do?”

She sighs and gives him a small smile. “Hold on. Just a little bit longer.”

“Okay,” he says, licking his lips.

“She’s scared, Stiles,” she tells him, sincerely. “She’s never been so terrified of what she wants."


End file.
